


The Temptation of Watson

by LadyKailitha



Series: John's Adventures in Sherlockian Romance [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:25:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKailitha/pseuds/LadyKailitha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was enjoying a nice night in when his best friend and flatmate stumbled home drunk. Alcohol changes everything. John knows that better than anyone, but he wasn't expecting this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Temptation of Watson

I sighed contently, having settled in for a quiet night with a book. Mrs. Hudson was out visiting relatives and Sherlock was out on what he called “a minor matter, nothing of consequence,” and didn’t require my assistance. If I had to admit it even to myself, I didn’t like the idea of him out there on his own; he was liable to do something stupid like nearly taking a bottle of pills that could kill him. But what I did like, however, was a chance at solitude. 

It was shortly after ten when Mrs. Hudson came home and I considering turning in for the night, but looking down at my book I decided that I wanted to at least finish the chapter. It was a crime novel, and my time with Sherlock had sharpened my senses a bit – and I found the book enthralling. So it came as no surprise that I had continued to the chapter after this one and soon the night slipped into the early morning. 

I was getting to the big reveal when I heard the front door slam. It was Sherlock coming home, and from the sound of it he was drunk. I assumed that he liked the buzzed feeling he got, considering he couldn’t get his fix elsewhere. I found it hard to believe that someone as brilliant as Holmes would want to take that kind of stuff into his body but then Sherlock wasn’t anything short of normal. I rolled my eyes, though no one was around to see. 

When Sherlock came bumbling in to their apartment, even I raised an eyebrow. Sherlock had done quite a few wild things since I moved in but this? This took the cake. He had managed to divest himself of coat, shirt, shoes, and apparently half a sock. 

“Eh, Sherlock?” I inquired as I watched him try to remove his pants as well. Thankfully all he managed to do was unzip his pants and undo the button before he fell passed out on the couch. Regrettably, however, this was also the couch in which I had chosen for my reading. 

I snorted rudely and tried to push the drunken idiot off him. “Sherlock!” I yelled, but all I managed to do was get him turned around on his back, instead of the face plant. I gave up. There was just no dealing with him right now. I lifted my book to let Sherlock’s head to slide down on to my lap. If I was going to be a bloody pillow I might as well be comfortable too. 

I looked down and suddenly was too aware of his state of undress. My breath became shallow and I looked around for something, anything to cover him up. But no luck, sighing I chose to focus on his book. 

I lowered the book, finally finished, and determined that the author was an idiot. But then, compared to Sherlock nearly everyone was. It was then I realized that while I was absorbed in the book I had been tracing patterns with my finger over Sherlock’s chest.

I slammed the book down in frustration and almost stood up to dump the subject of my frustration on the floor. But out of the corner of I eye he caught sight of Sherlock’s face and my heart stopped. I had never seen him look so peaceful.

I shook his shoulder in an effort to wake him. I hollered, “Wake up!” but still the idiot refused to, instead rolled over on his side, a lock of hair falling between his eyes. This time my chest refused to intake air, my breath caught. I forced the air out, sighing. I slowly stood and let Sherlock’s head gently hit the couch. 

Again I looked for something to cover him and figured that I would either have to go into Sherlock’s room or my own to get a blanket. A thought dawned on me then as I glanced down the stairwell, seeing the divested clothes lying forgotten. Sherlock’s coat was long enough and, provided it wasn’t at the bottom of the stairs, would work. So I went to go get it. My luck really wasn’t improving as the coat was at the bottom, but I picked up the other things anyway and grabbed the coat. I made his way back up and put the things away, completely forgetting why I’d gotten them in the first place. 

I saw the way the rising sun hit Sherlock’s features and got the insane notion to move him to the bedroom. I stood over him, blocking the light, trying to decide the best way to move him. The crux of the issue was that Sherlock was good six inches taller than I was. I chose the best one and leaned forward, grabbing his arm and slinging him over my shoulder. 

Luck was finally with me as the door to Sherlock’s room swung open with the touch of my foot. There were no experiments cluttering the path to the bed, either. I swung him down onto it, and the force of the drop didn’t even cause him to stir. 

Without even looking at my friend, I moved to close the drapes to keep the harsh sunlight from piercing his hangover when he woke. But when I turned around I saw that the wayward hair had made its way back in front of Sherlock’s eyes. Fetching the blanket off the chair, I chewed my lip nervously. I tucked the blanket around him and made the decision. 

I reached out my hand to brush away the hair when Sherlock stirred. My breath caught and drew my hand back with the lightning of a snake recoiling but he remained asleep. Slower this time, I reached out my hand and brushed the hair out of his eyes. But I was too close now and Sherlock’s lips moved, mouthing something in his sleep. I wanted to so bad, but what if Sherlock woke? There would be no explaining that one.

No – I couldn’t risk it, I wouldn’t. I straightened up and moved around the bed to the door. My hand touched the door knob when I heard what Sherlock had been mouthing in his sleep. 

“John,” and again, “John. I believe in you John.” At first I thought that Sherlock was awake, but when I turned, I saw that he was soundly asleep. I shook my head, and smiled and left him to sleep off the alcohol that was buzzing in his brain. I closed the door and the smile ran away from my face as a wave of guilt hit me. I slumped against the door and slid down it as I buried my face in my hands. 

“Oh god,” I breathed outloud as tears choked my throat. I looked up and gently banged my head on the door. I struggled to get to my feet but the sobs wracked my whole body. The guilt I felt continued to well up inside me. I felt like I had taken advantage of my friend while he was passed out. I wouldn’t do that to a girl but I done it to Sherlock.

How I managed to make it up the stairs to my room I’ll never know but I did. Without bothering to undress myself I crawled into bed and curled up on my side as I cried myself to sleep. 

Somehow I’d managed to get a shower and dressed before Sherlock stumbled out of his room moaning, his hand pressed against his head, clearly in pain. I handed him a cup and some aspirin without saying a word, trying to notice that he was in the same state of undress as the night before. Sherlock merely nodded his thanks and stumbled back into his room. 

I had dodged a bullet one that one. I decided to tidying the apartment and when I was do I went to get the mail. I saw several bills, mostly addressed to my, and was shuffling through them when Sherlock exited his room, this time far better dressed then the night before. 

“Ah, John. Just whom I wanted to see.”

I could barely squeak out an “Oh?” My mind raced through all the possibilities and hoped to god it was case related. 

“Yes,” Sherlock looked him square in the eye and I couldn’t look away; it was like a bird being caught in a snake’s gaze. “What the hell happened last night?” I completely missed the hanger, trying to hang my coat back up. I bent to pick it up so Sherlock wouldn’t see the blush that colored my cheeks. 

“I-I’m not sure what you mean. You came in drunk last night, if that’s what you’re referring to....” I stood up and managed to put my coat on the coatrack this time.

He rolled his eyes. “Well that much was obvious, thank you. I meant afterwards.”

“Like?” I could barely speak.

Sherlock, realizing that he would have to draw it out of me, said, “Fine. Like how did I make it from the couch, which I recall falling on, to my bed?”

“And do you recall falling on me? Because you did.” I was getting defensive, trying to keep the blush from my cheeks.

“Did I? Well you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Really, Sherlock, how else? I carried you.” I walked to the table; I could feel his eyes on me watching him like a hawk. I put the bills down.

“Fine. Then I’m guessing you closed the drapes and put the blanket over me.” I merely nodded, not trusting my voice at the moment. 

And the hammer fell. “You undressed me then as well.” It was a statement and not a question. I whirled around. 

“Of course not! You did that yourself, you big ninny.” This time hot anger flushed my cheeks. I looked up to see Sherlock smiling mischievously at me. And all anger drained away and it took all I had to speak calmly.

“Right. You knew that.” And that insufferable grin got bigger. “You left a mess all down the stairs too. Which I cleaned up, by the way.”

The piercing look was back and his friend replied, “Anything else I should know about?”

I wondered how much he knew or guessed, and just shook my head. 

“Nothing?”

“Nope.” I cleared my throat again. “I think I must be coming down with a cold. I’ll get it looked at when I go in tomorrow.”

“And you’re sure nothing else happened?” Sherlock clearly wasn’t going to let this drop. 

“Not that I recall, unless you can think of something I can’t.” I rocked back and forth on my feet, waiting. 

Sherlock pursed his lips and then he went to the coatrack and got his coat. 

“Going out?” but Sherlock just ignored him and headed for the door. He stopped and turned to me.

“Next time you’re in the mood, it’s more fun when I’m awake.” He tossed his hair and ran a hand across his chest to emphasize his point. And then, with a wink, he was gone. 

I twisted, crouching on the floor, my face in my hand. But before I could breathe or even think Sherlock was back.

“I woke up briefly while you were reading.”

“Oh god,” I fell to the floor, in surprise and humiliation, my shame nearly complete. “And the other?”

He walked over and stood over me. “You talk to yourself out loud. While you were making coffee, I would have come out sooner but I stopped to listen.” Sherlock smiled down at his friend impishly. He held out his hand. 

My shame was accute as it was complete. But I sighed and took the offered hand anyway and allowed Sherlock to pull me up. 

“It was good of you to come back and explain.” I looked down at our still connected hands and blushed. I allowed my hand to drop the same time as Sherlock’s, making it natural instead of dropping it like a hot rock like my brain told me too. 

“Well since you know my little secret,” I tucked my hands behind his back rocked back on his heels, “I should probably mention that I heard you talk in your sleep.” Sherlock handed me my coat and we walked out into the cold, afternoon air. 

“You should have mentioned it before,” he admonished as we walked along. 

I blushed, “I didn’t want to embarrass you.” Sherlock’s laughter filled the streets. 

“Like I can be embarrassed.”

“True, true….” I walked along, my hands tucked firmly behind my back. 

“So are you going to tell me what I said? Or do we have to play twenty questions again?” This time John laughed. 

“I warn you, even I thought it was embarrassing.”

“Oh get on with it, John.”

“You said ‘I believe in you, John’,” I told him and watched carefully for his reaction. Oddly, it wasn’t embarrassment but deep fear. Like his darkest secret had gotten out.

“Looks as though we’re even then.” his voice had gone cold, devoid of human emotion. We walked along, in silence awhile before I got up the courage to ask. 

“Um... well then... so...” Sherlock glared at him sidelong. “Where are we going?” The smile came back. 

“Where else?”

“Some place dangerous, then?” I smiled in return. 

“Did you remember your pistol?” My smile got bigger. 

“Yes, and your revolver, too.” I pulled it out of my coat pocket and handed it to him. 

“The game is on!” we said at the same time and dashed off through the battlefield of the streets of London.

We both knew that today they had moved past the childishness of their relationship. We knew that the other was our weaknesses. 

Sherlock, he knew, reveled in the knowledge that he had been right all those months ago in the cafe that I had feelings for him. Even if it took him coming home drunk for me to realize it. 

And I basked in the glow of the knowledge that despite all the comments and snide remarks, Sherlock valued me. 

That knowledge fled to more pressing things but it would always be the day we took our first steps into something greater than ourselves. The team that would be forever known as Holmes and Watson, consulting detectives.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever Sherlock fan fiction and at the time I wasn't a fan of Johnlock (well I am now!). I know it's so cliché but it came to me in a dream. And after writing prompts set in the same universe and reading some pretty fantastic Johnlock fics I became a believer.


End file.
